Sonatina
by Digital Tempest
Summary: Vampire Diaries. Evolved drabble. Sequel to Fermata. Stefan prays, and Damon reflects. One shot. Complete.


**Title:** Sonatina  
**Author:** Tempest  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters recognizable from "The Vampire Diaries". They all belong to Ms. L.J. Smith, and I promise to return them relatively unharmed before curfew. No vampires were harmed in the making of this fic. I make no money off these works; no copyright infringement intended.  
**Author's notes:** Sequel to "Fermata." Inspired by more Mozart and of course, the 15minuteficlets livejournal community. Yeah, it took me long enough to get this out. I was stuck on it for a little while, and I still don't like it – not as much as Fermata, anyway. After writing this, I was actually inspired to write a short chaptered story called "Atonement," but it won't be up for a little while yet. As usual, liberties were taken. I didn't use quite as many music terms in this one as I did in "Fermata."

- - -

**Act II. Scene** **I.  
Damon**

Damon paced the floors of the bare room, beating his clenched fists roughly against the side of his thighs. Prestissimo in double time. Back and forth, back and forth, like a caged tiger waiting for his chance to pounce.

Stefan kneeled in a dark corner of the room, tangling his rosary tightly in his fingers, moaning pitifully under his breath. He prayed aloud and without shame, his lips moving so rapidly that his words stumbled and tripped over one another until he could do nothing but repeat the words "Our Father" over and over again. "Our Father" would make this right. "Our Father" would save them.

Damon shook his head, glaring at Stefan whose shoulders were beginning to tremble. He swallowed hard, his lips thinning into an angry line. "Don't you dare," he hissed, the shadows flickering over his face making him appear malicious in the dim candlelight. Damon paused mid-stride and stiffened when he heard the tears begin anyway.

Before long, Stefan's crying turned into loud, pleading sobs that echoed inside Damon's head. Though Stefan's prayers were spoken in his soft timbre, they sounded unnaturally loud—sforzando—to Damon's ear. "Deliver us from evil," Stefan begged through his tears. Damon reminded himself that Stefan was weak. He wouldalways need looking after, and even when Stefan called him cruel, everything he did to Stefan and for Stefan was to make him a man, to make him wakeup to the harshness of the real world.

He tried not to pity his brother or feel any disappointment that their experiences hadn't made Stefan stronger, but his disappointment manifested itself in disgust for his own brother. A part of him wanted to protect him, to be the older brother he never was, but his contempt for him wouldn't allow it.

He wouldn't deny that he sometimes was unnecessarily cruel, inflicting needless pain on others for his own whims, but what he lacked in kindness, he made up for with determination of will. What he lacked in sympathy, he more than made up in courage. He would not let what he'd become crush his spirit. To embrace what they were was to be free. And Stefan would never be free.

Damon turned on his heel abruptly, storming toward Stefan. He wanted to grab his brother's shoulders, shake him roughly, and tell him that "Our Father" had turned his back on them, but he paused and took a step backward, breathing deeply to control his anger before beginning his solemn pace again.

Stefan had always been the pious one, the one whose eyes would shine when the Padre preached about the angels, the saints, and their just rewards in heaven. Those stories had always bored him. Fairytales for simple minds, for people who needed something to believe in in order to feel that their life had meaning.

"We are the evil, Stefan." Damon said, a cruel laugh bubbled from his lips.

"What would you have me to do then, Damon? If not salvation, what would you have to me to pray for?" Stephan said, his voice was muffled.

Damon could see him curling into himself, his arms hugging his midsection, as his forehead became intimate with the floor. He reminded Damon of a butterfly fluttering in his hands, the wings beating softly against palm. Beautiful to behold, but just as easily crushed should he close his hand. For a moment, Damon thought about kneeling and putting a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. Sometimes, he wondered why he didn't just let Stefan die in his own self-pity.

"Pray for the daylight."


End file.
